Return to Paris
by Flute Chick
Summary: Gustave, in meeting a girl in Paris, meets the past of his father . . . and he just might find a mask of his own. As he visits his father's old home, he may realize they had much more in common than their style of music and love of the night.
1. Chapter 1

**This is killing me so I must write it. Please enjoy . . . the plot bunnies will devour my body otherwise. Vicious little things, aren't they?**

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There was a young man walking down the streets of Paris. He seemed to be seventeen to perhaps twenty years old. In a dark suit, holding a briefcase, he seemed to be the only one in the streets on this cool autumn night. He had dark hair, slicked back, and a handsome face, despite his frustrated frown.

He checked into a small inn near the Paris Opera House, and went to the Opera House itself without his briefcase. Work was being done to restore it, as he'd heard. But that was not his business-he was to meet someone that was considering donating equipment and volunteers to the Phantasma park in New York. As his father hadn't enjoyed the idea of returning to Paris (or rather, the idea of being arrested), Gustave had volunteered. After living the first ten years of his life there, he knew his way around, and eight years in New York with Erik, his father, made him wary of the world.

But back to the turn of events. Gustave was to meet the philanthropist that was so interested in the park here, on the front steps of the opera house, by nine o'clock in the morning. The streets were deserted, and decidedly grey and cool with the gloomy cloud cover.

A woman with a shock of fiery red hair strode out of one of the dingy shops on the street. She wore a long, expensive-looking coat, and had a rather pinched-looking face. She looked around, not seeming to see Gustave at first, but her eyes locked on him. Her gaze seemed to scrape over every detail of him that she could catch. Promptly, the woman (about Gustave's age, possibly a little older) marched up to Gustave.

"You are the representative from the Phantasma park, on Coney Island?" she asked. Her voice was one that sounded rather like a type chicken-only with a heavy accent, perhaps Italian.

"Yes, I am. My name is Gustave," he said, holding out his hand. She sniffily took it, shook it, and backed away like he had some disease.

"I am Madame Eveline. My mother was a singer at this opera house, Carlotta-" the woman bragged. After a moment or two of her gloating of family connections, an irritated Gustave responded.

"I see. Well, I don't know much of opera here in Paris. My mother, too, was a singer, but she tended to keep work and family separate. I believe she sung here too, as a chorus girl for a while before starring in a few roles. Now, are you in charge of the contract we might be making between the two companies?" For, if the deal was made, they would constantly have financial support for years to come, as long as some proceeds went to the acting company here and any employees of this-what was it called again?-Brillar Co, that was it-would be allowed free admittance to the performances should they want to see it.

"Yes," Eveline-Eviline, Gustave thought amusedly-said. "But my father is more in charge of money affairs. After his wife was murdered, he was simply _distraught_," said the woman with zeal, "But he finally got to marry my mother, a woman whom he could love and support, as an equal." That sounded all fine and nice. Except...

"So your mother and father were not married when you were born?" he asked, amused that this uptight girl had told him such an idea. Eveline looked flustered, red-faced at the idea.

"How dare you say such a thing! They loved one another!" she said. Gustave softened.

"I was only going to say that perhaps we had something in common, then," he said gently. She looked up in surprise, her eyes wide and her mouth a perfect little "o".

"I... my goodness. Anyway, my father said that he would like to hear something composed by one of the two men of the show. For some reason he believes that knowing they are doing well with their talents will convince him. I am to oversee any project you are doing-he wants me to move to New York to watch the shows. I always wondered what was the show like . . . if you can give him a performance here . . . if it is satisfactory, he will follow along with the contract." He was supposed to... compose something? And perform it?

"How long do I have?" He asked. Gustave was no genius... that was his father... but he could try.

"It depends. When the Opera House is done-a few months, perhaps-because he wants it to be the first production shown on the stage. Only to my family, of course," she said.

"I-that's an honor. I will do my best, but I'm no genius when it comes to composing. My father normally does that, but he couldn't make the trip," Gustave responded.

"If you want, you can go inside. It's rather dusty, but other than that, it's perfectly normal. They had to put in support beams to be sure it wouldn't collapse earlier on, but that's long since done. Unless you have somewhere where you'd like to compose by yourself," she made the last phrase a question. Her voice wasn't as bird-like anymore, though maybe it was still reminiscent of a clucking chicken if one listened hard enough. Some of her uptight demeanor had disappeared as well.

"Maybe I will. Care to give me a tour?"

"You've never gone in to see your mother sing?"

"No. I stayed home most of the time. I've only seen a few of her performances, but that was a long time ago." Eveline sighed and led him up the steps.

Saying that the opera house was 'rather dusty' was like saying his first reaction to his father's face was 'slightly scared'. Gustave was pretty sure he'd walked through six fairly large cobwebs before they'd even set foot in the auditorium area. And swallowed twice as much dust as he'd ever seen in his life. He coughed.

"Eveline, I do hope you realize that this isn't perfectly normal?" he said, gesturing to the layers of dust.

"Not all of it is dust. Some of the ash from the huge fire is still here," she said.

"Fire?" She looked at Gustave like he'd grown a second head. He shrugged.

"Must have been before my time, or after I left."

"It was about eighteen years ago."

"I'm eighteen years old-that makes sense."

"Hm... my mother had told me the story as a child. Back when she was a star, this place was haunted, they say, by a phantom. It had been that way for so many years that he became known as the Phantom of the Opera..." And so she told him the tale. After she'd said his mother's name, and that of his unknowingly adoptive father and his real father-for who else did he know that wore a mask?-Gustave knew better than to tell her that his father was the phantom himself.

"Perhaps I can compose something to do with this story... there will be a lot of organ music.. I'll see what I can do. Perhaps dress as the Phantom and get myself someone to play Christine..." Gustave's mind was working on overdrive.

"My mother doesn't sing anymore-"

"-No. Well, I'll figure something out. I'd say you could play as Meg, but I don't think you'd like that very much... I'll be ready when the theater is done, have no fear. Do you know where the catacombs are?"

"I was told... let's find out, shall we?" Gustave grinned. Without the threat of anyone she knew seeing her, this girl was quite the daredevil.

After taking some passages, we found the catacombs and the underground lake, which was amazing to see. However, Eveline lost some of her bravado at seeing the place, and soon, they departed.

Tossing and turning in bed, Gustave later dreamt of strange faces and haunting voices, and most of all, his father's mask...

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**Planning on this being a oneshot, but if you guys like it, then by all means, let me know and I'll continue. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Gustave awoke with the sun shining through unfamiliar curtains. Stiffly, he got up. It had been three weeks—construction on the theater to keep it safe was done, and now they were cleaning out the dust that had plagued him on the first visit. Sometimes, Eveline accompanied him on visits, and sometimes he was alone. She was a nice presence to have around—a friend, something Gustave had not had since he was a schoolboy. Even then, some children had stayed away, for his . . . strangeness. He didn't mind being alone. However, he was definitely not a recluse, something that made him have more energy to go on when the Prima Donna's daughter was working with him.

After having coffee, he was going to work on the set design as well as practicing for the "mirror" scene, starting with Raoul coming in to meet Christine and ending with her taking Erik's hand to go to his home under the opera house. Eveline had volunteered to help him. Her clothes were much less formal when she walked into the theater—still filled with dust, though perhaps the stage was a bit more bearable.

"Gustave, what do you have so far music-wise for this scene?" she asked. He half-smiled.

"It's all written. Would you like to see it? I may have to edit out a bar or two, but I think it's good." She snatched the pages from his hands, her eyes quickly scanning them. A giddy smile spread across her face.

"This is amazing! Could I hear it?" He nodded, walking over to the orchestra organ and playing some chords before his voice boomed throughout the empty theater, echoing strangely against the far-off walls. Eveline carefully read the words over his shoulder, Christine's part, and sung softly. Her voice surprised him—she had not done so before. It was clear she was no professional, but she had a natural, light voice that sent chills up Gustave's spine.

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Just outside the theater area, one of the construction workers heard the echoing voices. 'Construction worker' was a light term, as they were all young women that were paid by the city to get things clean. One of the women was doing this not for pay, but to see the opera house that she had performed at so long ago. She had fled from it on orders from her mother, hiding in her locked home, when men in police uniforms that smelled like burnt things and lake water (a strange combination, she had thought) came in her living room and questioned about the murderer. Paris had no longer been safe. Now in the foyer, hearing these voices, she moved her cleaning supplies right outside the doors so she could see.

The reason she was back, and her mother was not with her, is because she was once again running from the law. She would never dare follow her mother again, or anyone, so Paris seemed like the best option-no one would expect her to return. She had a new face, haggard from all the menial work she had done, and no longer did she resemble the "oo-la-la" girl.

Wiping the floor, she heard the voices mingling with the organ-in reality, this was not true. She did not hear the organ. She did not hear the girl. She did not even truly hear the man-if she had, she would have noticed that his voice was a tad higher and younger than the one she thought it was. No. She did not really hear him.

All Meg Giry heard was the voice of the Phantom that had ruined her life. Yes, he must be back.

But not for long.

* * *

Finishing with the first bar of loud organ music, Gustave turned.

"That was amazing," grinned Eveline, "You have an amazing voice. My father met the true Phantom, they say. The Phantom's voice was... mysterious, he said. Dark like the night, like an angel of music..." Gustave froze at the term Erik, his own father, had used to say Christine Daae once called him in the old days at the Paris Opera.

"What's your father's name?" he asked calmly.

"Raoul. He's the Vicomte de Chagny."

"..."

"Gustave?"

"That was my mother's husband. I thought he was my father for the first ten years of my life... coming to Paris was pointless!" he growled, and stormed out of the building.

Eveline chased after him. It was probably not the best moment for Meg to do so, but she followed the woman that seemed not to care that she was barefoot on the streets of Paris.

Gustave slammed the door behind him and started throwing things in his suitcase.

"Stop, please," Eveline said in a small voice, suddenly behind him.

"Why should I? Coming here was a mistake," he muttered.

"No, it wasn't. The music you're writing is beautiful. It ought to be shared," she told him. He smiled slightly. Perhaps, after all, he'd found a Christine actress...

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**Tadaa! See you guys later!**


	3. Chapter 3

**If any dialogue is incorrect, this is because I did the scenes from POTO be memory. Enjoy—I tried to build suspense, but I'm better at the beginning and the end. Read on!**

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Gustave sipped his coffee. The few people sitting at the breakfast tables outside in the cold morning were talking. This was a café his "father" had often gone to before he found something a lot stronger to drink.

"I don't know how I could have ever liked that dreadful woman," spoke one elderly lady to her equally elderly companion.

"I know, believe me. She had been so kind when she was younger, but she changed so when she returned—how long has it been? Six years?"

"Give or take a month. Why, just yesterday, Agatha, do you know how she glared at me? It was awful! And she doesn't keep herself clean and proper anymore either…" Gustave stopped listening to the gossiping ladies. A short, stubby man was smoking his pipe while reading the paper. A woman Gustave assumed was the man's wife sipped her tea daintily. Her face seemed stretched over her skull.

"Can you believe it, Meredith?" he asked, showing her an article.

"My goodness! They really should be more careful. People could be killed in that area of the town. You know I think it should have been picked through by the police already…" Gustave turned again, listening for less petty conversation. An older man was sipping coffee at the table next to him. He was alone. The man did not look at Gustave, instead staring at the steam rising from his coffee. But the young man recognized the older one easily.

"That fellow over there, the Vicomte?" whispered one of the elderly women, pointing very rudely at the man Gustave had been observing. He listened once more to them.

"He's so quiet lately. His daughter has been hanging around the theater with some young American," she said, sniffing to punctuate her words. _So they actually think I'm American. I'll admit I've gained their accent slightly, but that's all. I think these ladies gave me sweets when we stopped by their houses for tea. But it's been years..._

"Personally, I just want to see what the man is coming up with for his performance. It couldn't be that bad, could it? I hear he's quite the prodigy."

"But he's only the son of the man who's in charge—not the true composer. He must be great if it is his child who he sends."

"Or afraid of refusal."

"I happen to be the son," Gustave muttered to himself, "So I wouldn't say that." No one heard him.

"And I believe the Vicomte is allowing guests to see."

"We'll see, hopefully. I'd love to know what the young composer has come up with." said the shorter of the two.

A young woman sat at the table behind Gustave. He did not notice her. She had a large bag hanging on her chair. She saw the Vicomte. She saw Gustave. But what she noticed was the article on the back of the newspaper the stubby man had been reading to his wife. _**Building Condemned.**__ Near the Paris Opera House, an old hospital is now unfit to be in use and will be demolished in December. Citizens are advised to avoid the hospital, as parts of it are liable to collapse due to decaying support beams. For more information, see page six. _The woman smiled. How perfect: those who brought her life down to rubble would be crushed by rubble themselves.

Gustave met Eveline at the opera house yet again a week later. It would be their final rehearsal before the performance. They would have a young friend of Eveline's play Raoul, singing the song about Little Lottie. Eveline would play Christine. The full orchestra was set up beneath the stage with the score in front of them. Gustave fitted his mask to be sure it would not fall off.

In truth, Gustave had bits and pieces for the entire play written, and even ideas for a sequel. However, he knew that he would not be able to keep the audience's attention for hours, and he most certainly could not have finished more than the two scenes he had prepared. He would have a narrator explain the preceding events, and then the show would start.

"Eveline, could you seem more afraid of me? I'm a phantom bringing you down to his lair," Gustave said before they practiced.

"I'll try, but you're not very menacing. Try not smiling at me from the mirror, and I might think about being afraid," she replied, putting the sparkling pins in her hair.

"I'll try," Gustave said, smirking. They rehearsed and everything went flawlessly, but for a lack of audience to tell them so.

"Now all we have to do is wait," Eveline said, "I've explained to my father that I'm playing the main female lead, and that you, the composer, are playing the male lead. I was specific enough, since they know my friend is playing one of the two males in the beginning. Mother was pleased for me, but father said it would be hard not to be biased. Little does he know," she smiled.

But Gustave did not appreciate the joke. He had his mind on other things.

"I just hope Father got my last letter. I told him about the predicament, and that I was still going through with it. Hopefully he'll get it before I come home and have to explain why I failed. I just want to make him proud…"

"I would be happy to join you to Coney Island and inform your father about how well you did and how moved the audience was. My father be damned," she said. Gustave jumped at the use of course language from Eveline, who had hardly ever been so plain with him.

"That's kind of you. I think you'd get along with Miss Fleck. She enjoys it when she has intelligent girls to speak with. It isn't often she gets the chance."

"I mean it. I want to go back to America with you. I'm getting to the age where I should be able to make some of my own decisions, even though I'm a woman. I ought to be able to tell my father that I want to see the sights at least. I'll come up with some excuse… they're starting to come in." Gustave hurried to look from a crack in the pit below. There were about thirty to forty people filing in. An extravagant woman sat next to Raoul—it must have been Eveline's mother.

"Your parents have taken the front center seats. Not box five, thank goodness. Everyone else is right behind them," he told Eveline when he got back to the stage. She nodded and went to her place for the start of the show—the dressing room vanity on stage, with a door and a full-length mirror being the only other furnishings of the room. There were also many bouquets, signaling that her performance had done well. She had a lace dressing gown on over what had been part of her costume. The curtains were still down, and the narrator went to the front of the stage in a plain black suit. There were two spotlights: one on him, and one on the chandelier.

"A great mystery follows this newly reestablished chandelier," he began. "The great disaster that was caused by it was supposedly planned by one Phantom of the Opera. But what caused him to do such a thing? It began with young Christine Daae, a new soprano lead in this very opera house. She has just finished her first performance in replacing a young woman who had the part, but was too distraught to perform on that night. Her childhood friend and love happened to be the new patron of the acting company, and saw her. But her teacher did not want her to leave just yet, for this would be the night he would finally show himself to her, rather than just sing his songs in her head. The following events are displayed here, and then I shall explain to you all how the disaster occurred from there…"

He walked offstage, and the spotlight faded. Instead, normal stage lighting was used as Eveline removed two pins from her hair. There was a knock at the door—the young man playing Raoul, whose name was Marius.

"Little Lottie. Where is your red scarf?" he began, grinning like a child. "You better not have lost it, after all the trouble I went to getting it for you."

"Raoul?" Eveline asked, unbelieving.

"I was fourteen and soaked to the skin," he answered.

"Because you had run into the sea to fetch my scarf! Oh Raoul, so it _is _you," she said, turning and hugging him.

"Little Lottie, let her mind wander…" Marius sang. Gustave was standing behind the mirror. The light above him was off, so no one could see him and all in the audience thought it was just a regular mirror. He could see, though, in the front row. The true Raoul had grown pale. Gustave could imagine him wondering how the composer knew all of it. _Perhaps he had interviewed someone? No, we never talked about our personal lives to others…_

Marius had finished. Eveline was pacing, unsure of what to do. A drum roll later, and it was Gustave's turn. He bellowed,

"_Insolent boy, this slave of fashion basking in your glory! _

_Ignorant FOOL, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!"_ Eveline looked ready to pass out. So did Raoul, and his wife.

"Angel, I hear you. Speak; I listen. Stay by my side, guide me . . ." It was easier to sing when not visible, Gustave decided. But only a few lines later, the light above him came on, and people in the audience gasped.

Raoul looked like he couldn't decide whether to be terrified, angry, or impressed. Everyone else took the third option.

"_I am your angel of music. Come to me angel of music . . ."_ Marius pounded at the door, but it was "locked".

"CHRISTINE!" he shouted.

"_I am your angel of music. Come to me angel of music. . ."_ The organ played its first note just as Eveline passed through the mirror that had opened. They made their way around the set, and walked along the recreation of the caverns and lake below. This was all very elaborate. Glancing at Raoul while he prepared the "boat" or the small, fake gondola on wheels, he realized the man had chosen what emotion to go with.

He was terrified, angry, and impressed all at once. Like a small animal caught in a trap, struggling to get out, fearing that he wouldn't, and yet entranced with the intricacy of the trap.

"SING!" Gustave shouted once they had made it to the end of the song. Eveline hit the high note, an E that was on the ledger lines of the staff on the written sheet, and the lights went out just as she went silent. A spotlight appeared on the narrator again, who this time was in box five. He explained that after this, multiple escapades and tragedies led to the Phantom letting the chandelier loose from the ceiling. He did not explain any further. Then the bows came, and for his bow, Gustave flourished his hand and took of the mask in the process. Raoul sat, dumbfounded in staring at the young man's face. His hands clapped almost automatically. Then the show was done and Gustave went into the audience for questioning—or, to be nice, for interviews. Eveline and Marius followed him.

"How did you enjoy the show?" Gustave asked Raoul. The man's eye twitched.

"How is it you managed to stay looking so young and get rid of the infection," he muttered. Gustave suddenly realized that Raoul did not recognize him as well as he could have—though he was close.

"Sir, I believe you are mistaken. My name is Gustave," he said. Raoul's eyes widened. Then he blinked.

"G—Gustave?" he asked carefully.

"And obviously, you know Eveline and Marius. Both incredibly talented, I might add."

"I know you too, then, if what I think is correct. Are you the Gustave that I think you are?" Looking in each other's eyes, there was a recognition and an understanding passing between them. They'd seen each other many a time for sure. But they were both able to understand one another this time. They now knew the hardships of the world and how to handle them. Both were grown men this time.

"If you mean that I lived with you and believed you were my father for ten years, then yes." Perhaps these words would have sounded accusing in other situations. However, hearing them was different. Gustave's voice had cracked on the word _father._ He was not manipulating Raoul whatsoever. Well, perhaps he was, but that was not his intent. He was being honest. The Vicomte's face softened.

"Eveline and Marius indeed both did very well. You, young man, were also incredible. I believe you indeed get talent from both of your parents. Had I known this was the same Phantasma, I never would have guessed you were working with him. Obviously I was wrong. I know I'm not your true father, but I'm still proud of you, Gustave. And my company will most definitely support you and your father's work," Raoul said, a tired smile on his face that tightened slightly on the words "your father's". Nonetheless, Gustave politely thanked him.

"Perhaps we could catch up a little at the café, sir?" Gustave asked.

"No need to call me sir. It makes me feel older than I already am," the Vicomte de Chagny responded. Eveline had a wide smile on her face, while Marius was busy with the ladies in the crowd who enjoyed his performance. And it was those who hardly cared about his voice.

"I don't think that will be necessary," said someone female behind Gustave. He did not recognize the woman.

"I'm afraid I don't know you?" said Eveline, making the statement a question.

"Well, I'm afraid that your mother has fallen ill and we need to take her to the nearest hospital," she said, pointing at Carlotta, unconscious on the ground. Everyone gasped. The woman who had pointed it out helped to lift Eveline's mother by the legs. Raoul and Gustave took her upper body, and Eveline went in the middle. Gustave did not notice the small puncture wound on Carlotta's neck that must have been from a needle. Nor did he notice the syringe on the floor filled with poison. No one saw any of that, so he cannot be blamed.

The woman led them across the street into St. Francis de Sales Hospital. They all hurried inside.

The condemned sign had been taken down one hour before by the woman that led them in.

They sat in the waiting room, too nervous to realize the building was empty.

"She's dead. I'm not sure how. A heart attack, maybe, plus a bit of jostling from the crowd. She didn't make it," said the woman, coming down the hallway. She had a gun behind her back.

Raoul shed tears, breaking down. His second wife dead. Eveline too sobbed into her hands. Gustave, sitting between them, tried to comfort them both.

"Miss, thank you for helping us bring her here. I'm sure there was nothing to be done," he said to the woman. She shook her head. The lady, plainly dressed, was standing in the doorway to the street. She contemplated shooting each of them. Wouldn't that be easier? But no, she could get caught by the others. Crushed by rubble was a much easier conclusion to these events.

Gustave looked up at her to find her pointing a gun at the ceiling support above their heads. He recalled many things at once—the paper, he had seen the same article she had—this woman was too familiar—get them safe! He was on top of both Eveline and Raoul at once, covering them rather than himself, just as she shot. They would have bruises as he half tackled them, but he most surely got the worst of it later. The beam had already been weak from mold and wear over the years. It had been a very old building regardless.

Meg Giry got out without a scratch as the hospital came tumbling down.

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**Any good? I rushed a bit on this chapter… I know it's not as good as the previous ones. Also, did you know the hospital was named after the patron saint against deafness? I should have the final chapter up within a few weeks!**

**Flute Chick**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here is the finale, though I'm afriad it's rather short. Please enjoy regardless!**

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The doctors simply could not understand what had happened to the young man. He was fine physically—some broken bones on his arm and a fractured rib. He should have been awake. But when asked to respond, he would not. What could have put him into the coma?

Gustave was asleep. However, he was sure that being asleep would mean he couldn't feel his aching arm. Or his growling stomach that he should have been able to hear as well as feel.

"Ah…" he groaned. It was strange that he could not hear himself. Perhaps he was still half asleep. Opening his eyes, he found himself surrounded by doctors until a red-haired woman stormed in. What shoes was she wearing that he couldn't hear her? Gustave knew better than anyone that Eveline could simply not walk quietly. It was eerily quiet in the hospital.

_Gustave? Gustave?_ She seemed to ask this over and over again. But why wouldn't she make any sound? Gustave put a hand to his left ear, then to his right.

"I can't hear," he tried to say. With a horrified shock, he realized that this was the problem exactly. _I can't hear. I'm deaf._ The doctors looked at one another and one carefully examined each of his ears. They wrote in a long, looping script on a piece of paper for him.

_They were damaged when you saved the others. You got the worst of it I'm afraid. It's unlikely you will ever be able to hear properly again. _

_I'm sorry. _

He stared at the scribbled words carefully.

"Is my speech different, Eveline?" he shakily asked. He was concerned he would become dependent on others to speak for him, and that he would never be able to create music again. She took the clipboard and wrote furiously.

_Thank God you're alive. As for your question, I don't know how you're talking correctly, but for a few slurs. With practice I'm sure that will go away. We would all have died if not for you—the rubble would have broken all of our heads open it seems. Who was that woman? _

"Meg Giry. She killed my mother," Gustave tried to explain but gave up and settled for his concern for the Vicomte, "Is he okay?"

_Father is fine. He only has a few scratches. He is incredibly angry at the woman though. He doesn't know who she was._

"He knew Meg a long time ago." In a few weeks, he was allowed to leave. Raoul decided to stay in Paris despite the tragedy. He was tired of running, and he was too old for travel.

Eveline refused to leave Gustave's side, on the other hand. She agreed to accompany him to Coney Island, where they broke the news of Gustave's condition to Erik. Gustave would say years later that his father was almost as horrified as when Gustave's mother had died. Gustave agreed silently-for how could anyone understand that? To no longer hear music was a fate worse than death for him. Eveline accompanied him through it all. In the eerie silence that only he could hear, the young man continued to write, but never performed again. He sold his writing to a starting composer and begged him not to perform it until after Gustave was dead. It would be a request that held true. In fact, the man lost the music pages and never found them. A composer in later years would find the scripts and staff paper and become famous.

Gustave and Eveline one day married, and had a young girl with Eveline's curls and Gustave's eyes. She had Christine's voice and Carlotta's attitude as well. However, a composer such as Erik or Gustave would never arise again.

Raoul would one day bid on the monkey figure that the Phantom owned, winning against Meg Giry. Both too old to fight or do much else but watch the world pass by, the most battle they could do was to try outbidding one another in the auction. Raoul, finally, would win something that was of meaning to him. This would be the only time he didn't lose.

Tragedy was overcome, but not in such a way that folk heroes defeat evil. There was no true evil to be fought. Simple human nature clashed throughout the course of their lives and ruined them all, but they picked up whatever they had left and moved on. The only thing of any significance in their lives was lost forever. Especially to Gustave, whose hearing never returned.

The music that which made men fall in love, built humans up to fame and destroyed them in an instant, healed dark creatures such as the Phantom, or broke the hopeful down like Meg. It was the only thing that held them together, and yet it was what ultimately pulled them apart, never to see one another again.

The music.

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**... I didn't think it would end that way but it turned out well enough for my tastes. Thanks to everyone for reading!**

_**The End**_

_**-Flute Chick**_


End file.
